


The Stone Crypt

by PurpleArrowzandLeather



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Son of Batman (2014), Under the Red Hood
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Kidnapping, assorted cultists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-07 00:55:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18862465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurpleArrowzandLeather/pseuds/PurpleArrowzandLeather
Summary: Bruce and his sons are keeping their eyes open on the streets. Recent sightings of cult members has them on edge, and when they take Jason, the rest of the Waynes only have a short window to figure out what they want.





	The Stone Crypt

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing.  
> Also, nerf guns.

          Bruce has been paying close attention to word on the streets. It isn’t that he doesn’t usually, but he’s keeping an even closer eye out now.  

          Jason walks over from where he’s parked his bike, shivering because of the sudden rain that had started up on his way over. Bruce throws him a towel and then reaches up into the medicine cabinets for a couple of blankets. Thunder rolls over the manor just as he’s returning and Jason’s shoulders are tense.  

          “Rough night?” 

          Jason nods, shedding his jacket, kevlar, and shirt. Bruce lets him towel himself down before giving him the first blanket. Jason snuggles into it gladly, shuddering.  

          “I really hate rain.” 

          Bruce hears Dick’s motorcycle pulling into the cave and reaches up for more blankets. He wraps the second one around Jason’s shoulders and ruffles his fluffy hair. It’s still about half-wet despite Jason’s attempt to dry it. He swats at Bruce’s hand, laughing as he persists. It feels good to be able to make Jason smile.  

          Dick shakes his hair like a wet dog when he nears, spraying the both of them with water. Jason scowls and flicks some of it back at him. Dick only smiles, snagging his discarded towel and starting to dry off as well. Damian strolls down the steps as Tim wheels into the cave, parking his bike next to Jason and Dick’s. He takes in the sight of his brothers, eyes hovering longer on Tim as he sneezes.  

          Damian would never admit to being  _concerned_ , but Bruce can tell that he is.  

          “Did any of you see anything strange tonight?” Bruce asks, passing Dick a blanket now that he’s some semblance of dry.  

          Jason’s report is negative, but Tim and Dick seem to have a different story.  

          Dick scratches the back of his neck. “I’ve been hearing some chatter about people in masks all across the city. No one has seen any of their faces, since they wear masks with a weird-looking eye on them.” 

          Tim nods. “I’ve tried to track their sightings, but they’re too random. I think it’s a cult or something.” 

          Bruce sighs, leaning against the long desk of the Batcomputer. “That’s what I’ve been thinking. We don’t know what they want as of yet, so I would advise extra caution on all solo patrols. I’d prefer that all of you go in pairs, at the very least.” 

          Dick chuckles. “I’m hearing Batman giving orders with dad voice.” 

          Damian tuts. “Whether or not father has a ‘dad voice’ is unimportant. What’s important is the unseen amount of uncountable variables running around Gotham.” 

          “They aren’t uncountable. We just have to keep a look-out for them.” Dick answers, shrugging. 

          “Has anyone seen Cassandra?” 

          Bruce’s last check-in had her in Hong Kong, and all the rest of the boys seem to be agreeing. That’s a piece of good news. Usually, Bruce would be okay with her being in town, but the last thing he needs is another person to worry about. He worries about his sons enough as it is.  

          “Does anyone know what kind of cult? Are there pictures?” 

          “Tim?” 

          Tim steals the towel and puts it on his head, rubbing at his hair for a ferocious moment before moving over to the computer. He pulls up all the information they have and he scans over it.  

          “It looks Egyptian.” 

          “An Egyptian cult in Gotham? How far back do cults go here?” 

          “Pretty much since Gotham was founded. This particular one goes back to Egypt itself.” Tim responds, sounding a little distracted. 

          Bruce places a hand on his shoulder. “Have you found anything that might tell us where they’ve been operating?” 

          “No such luck. We’ll just need to be careful until we know what they want.” 

          Bruce nods, saving all the information into a file and then onto a separate flash drive. Tim does the same, the obsessive behavior reminding him a bit of himself. Bruce looks over the faces of his four boys, Jason still shivering and Tim looking fairly tired.  

          “All right. That’s enough for tonight. It’d be pointless for you boys to drive back home in this rain after having dried off. You’re all welcome to stay. I’m sure Alfred will be happy to see all of you.” 

          They don’t complain and Bruce finds himself a little surprised. Jason not wanting to go back out isn’t a shock, but Dick actually likes the rain. Still, he seems content to stick around anyway. He changes out of his uniform and slips into some lounge clothes, skipping up the steps. He greets Damian with a hug, ignoring the boy’s light protest. Tim follows shortly after while Jason heads to the changing room for some spare clothing. Bruce follows shortly behind him. 

          Jason pulls on a long-sleeved shirt, quickly pulling a hoodie over that yet and sliding the blankets back around his shoulders. Jason is generally cold, but he’s never that cold.  

          “Come on. Let’s go get you warmed up.” Bruce murmurs. 

          Jason nods, letting Bruce drape his arm over his shoulders as they walk up the stairs. He’s hunching on himself a little bit and Bruce has a feeling that he’s thinking back to his alley days. Sometimes the weather doesn’t bother him so much, especially if he’s focused on a mission. Still, sometimes being okay isn’t always, as Bruce would prefer it to be.  

          He settles Jason down in the den, huddling on the couch. Moving to the kitchen for a few moments, Bruce mixes up some hot chocolate. It’s easier for Jason to feel grounded when there’s something warm in his hands. Dick scampers into the den a little bit after and lights up upon seeing the cocoa. Bruce pours him a mug as well and he inhales the steam with a smile. He only puts it down to get mini marshmallows from the kitchen. Damian and Tim join them shortly, Tim with a blanket, since he’ll probably fall asleep on the couch anyway.  

          Jason calms down some, Tim tucked against his left side and Bruce watching over him from the doorway. His boys stay in the den overnight, seeming to sense that being together is an important figment at the moment. Bruce keeps vigil over them until about four in the morning, only moving at Alfred’s insistence upon him getting sleep.  He only gets a couple hours anyway. 

          He’s walking down the stairs when he hears Jason wake up with a sharp breath. He treads into the den with deliberately heavy steps and Jason cranes his neck to look at him over the back on the couch. Tim is still asleep on him and his brothers are curled up together on the other couch. Bruce shoots Jason a questioning look, but he shakes his head. 

          Bruce nears, placing a hand on his son’s head and ruffling his hair. “You okay?” 

          Jason takes a moment to consider the question before nodding.  

          “Nightmare?” 

          He nods again, shifting a little. Tim groans and Jason stills, trying to keep him asleep. Bruce sits down in one of the lounge chairs and opens a newspaper without making the pages crinkle. He has a glint in his eye that Jason interprets as him wanting to snap the newspaper just to see what happens. One can’t help but have a morbid curiosity around this family.  

          Jason smirks, but gestures to Tim. Usually, he’d be up for seeing the end result, but his brothers do occasionally need sleep. Bruce agrees, only moving again when Alfred brings in his tea tray. Jason’s attention is attracted almost immediately. Bruce grins at him. If Alfred has an influence on anyone in this house when it comes to food preference, it’s Jason. Alfred hands him a cup and Jason gingerly takes it, slowly pulling his other hand free from Tim to hold onto it.  

          Bruce takes his coffee from Alfred, despite Alfred’s displeasure with his love for caffeine. Bruce doesn’t drink it all that often, but it’s going to be a wake-up call when he does. Bruce has a good buffer, since Alfred is always more scandalized by Tim’s energy drinks than Bruce’s coffee. He doesn’t know how the boy survives on his own. It’s as good a question as any. Even Bruce wonders sometimes.  

          Damian rouses at the smell of tea, sitting up with an elbow in Dick’s guts as if he wasn’t even there.  

          Dick shoots up. “I’m up! Who’s stabbing me in the spleen?!” 

          “Tt.” 

          With a put-upon sigh, Dick rubs the back of his head. “Nevermind. I think I’ve got it. Thanks for that, Dami.” 

          “It’s Damian.” 

          Dick laughs, pulling his younger sibling into a hug. “Uh huh.” 

          Jason glances down at Tim. He’s, shockingly enough, still out cold. For such a light sleeper, he sure is acting a lot like a deaf man. Jason shrugs and continues to drink his tea, smiling warmly at the perfection that rests inside the cup.  

          Damian seems pleased with his as well. 

          Bruce is fairly content with the way his day is going so far and decides to settle in for a few seconds. His kids don’t seem shocked, so that is probably a pretty good sign. Bruce is almost inclined to take them to work with him. Jason is legally alive, so that won’t be a problem. Tim would just be going in to work like normal. Dick has the next two days off.  

          No, Bruce probably shouldn’t know his oldest son’s schedule so well, but he likes to keep an eye on things. It isn’t his fault that he has a photographic memory and saw Dick’s schedule on the wall. 

          Bruce folds his paper and sets it down in the stand next to his chair. “So… how would you boys like to accompany me to work?” 

          Dick blinks. “Is it bring your kids to work day?” 

          Bruce shrugs. “I’m enjoying having you around.” 

          The comment alone is enough to shock them into silence for a few seconds. Jason is the first to recover. “Do I have to do paperwork to get in?” 

          “Of course you don’t. You’re the son of the CEO.” 

          Jason squints at him. “Do I get to bring nerf guns?” 

          Bruce raises his brows. “And why would you want or need to bring nerf guns into a place of business?” 

          “So I can mess with Timmy while he’s working.” 

          “Jason, don’t forget we have an image to uphold.” 

          Jason groans, letting his head drop dramatically against the back of the couch. “ _Fiiiiine_. You just suck the joy out of everything.” 

          “I never said no.” 

          “But you said-“ 

          Bruce smiles. “I suppose you can bring them along if you can promise me you’ll act professional in populated areas. If I’m putting rules on this, I’m going to say air vents are fair game and hiding behind plants is not.” 

          “What about distance shots?” 

          Damian mutters under his breath about his brother’s childish behavior while Dick squeezes him like a teddy bear. “Both of you are imbeciles.” 

          “You can come too, if you want.” 

          Damian considers it for a moment. “Anymore rules I should be aware of?” 

          “Obviously no fighting or maiming. Only foam darts. Anything more than that will get you in trouble, and not just with me. Pranking employees will be frowned upon.” 

          “But not out of the question.” Jason muses.  

          Bruce can’t help but being a little bit of a fun-wrecker, but he’s not going to ruin it for them completely. “Just make sure they don’t see and report you.” 

          “Got it.” 

          Dick looks at Bruce for a long moment before agreeing and Damian decides to come along as well. He’d never admit to wanting to have some fun, too. Jason wakes Tim up so that he can start getting ready and the boy scrambles to get dressed when he sees that it’s almost seven already. Bruce calls up the stairs as he hears Tim practically running around his room. 

          “Hey, what’s the rush, kiddo?” 

          “We have a meeting in half an hour! Don’t you remember?” 

          Bruce flicks through his calendar. “Tim, it’s been rescheduled for the 27th.” 

          There’s a muffled thump and a pause from upstairs. “Really?” 

          Bruce confirms before making sure that Tim is all right. He comes down the stairs looking ready for business as usual, if not a little rushed. Bruce gets up, letting Alfred pour him a cup of tea.  

          “Thanks, Alfie.” 

          Alfred calls them into the kitchen for breakfast, pancakes stacked high on the plate. Jason pets the top one a little before taking it. “It’s beautiful.” 

          Dick giggles, taking the next one without so much as a second glance. “That has to be the best love story I’ve ever seen. The boy and his pancake lived happily ever after.  _Until_ , the attack of the fork.” 

          Jason stabs the pancake to illustrate his point and Alfred scolds him for attempting to murder his dinnerware. He looks reasonably cowed. Jason continues eating like a normal person after that, Damian sitting next to him to keep out of hugging reach. Bruce takes two, putting a reasonable amount of syrup on them, unlike Dick, who apparently thinks pancakes can swim.  

          The three boys who don’t normally come along put on their suits with a bit of a begrudging attitude. They seem happy enough to come along, but less happy to be wearing suits again. They all had been hoping to avoid that until the next gala, Bruce is quite certain.  

          Bruce settles into his office rather quickly, and Damian curls up in one of the lounge chairs along the wall, his sketchpad in hand and pencil set spread out on the folding side-table. Bruce may or may not have gotten them with Damian specifically in mind. As small as he is, he tends to spread out over time. 

          It takes a couple hours for one of his boys to “show their face”, but Bruce knows that one is close when a sticky dart suctions to his desktop screen. Bruce smiles with amusement, pretending he doesn’t notice. Another dart hits the screen right across from the other and Bruce would be willing to bet that the next one will be the beginning of a smiley face.  

          Surprisingly enough, it doesn’t come. Damian picks up his own gun from next to his seat and aims at the air vent, earning a shocked yelp from the perpetrator. Jason. By the time Bruce hits a point that he can turn around, the vent cover is back in place and his son is gone. Damian walks up to Bruce’s desk and claims the two darts for his own.  

          “Thank you, Damian.” 

          Damian looks a little stupefied by Bruce’s gratitude, since all he did was collect a couple of darts, but he nods anyway. Bruce glances over from time to time just to see what he’s working on. It looks like a portrait of him and his siblings. Jason’s grin is perfected, its crooked angle and the twinkle of mischief in his eyes giving him all the character he needs. Bruce doesn’t get the chance to see a lot of Damian’s art before he hides it away, but what he does see is that his son is very talented. He’s become determined to put his hands to use for something that is beautiful without the danger. Cass had been looking for much the same thing when she started doing ballet. 

          Bruce is just glad that Damian is getting a taste of childhood, even if he might never fully experience it. 

          He’s in the midst of thinking he’s proud of his children when a dart hits him in the back of the head. It doesn’t stick. Bruce snags it before it can hit the ground and opens one of his desk drawers. Sliding his own weapon free, he lets two darts fly and cheerily listens to Dick’s squawk of protest as they fly up into the other vent. He had been hesitant at first about the nerf guns encouraging his children, but now that he and Jason are on better terms, it seems like a good idea to at least respect his decisions. That means allowing him a little leeway.  

          Dick, on the other hand, had been thrilled that Bruce was finally allowing fun in the house. Bruce had been sure to remind him that he had never discouraged fun, but Dick recounted all the rules off the top of his head and Bruce had wondered for a full minute or two how he remembered them all. Of course, at one point he had probably broken them all. No pets in the manor is long gone, along with a few others.  

 

          If one had been following Jason in the time that he had taken to get up to Bruce’s office, they might have found him shooting marshmallows into Tim’s hot chocolate. Alfred had been worried he was drinking too many energy drinks at work and Tim had promised him he’d try to tone it down. Hence, the hot chocolate. Jason is fairly certain it’s more mix than milk. Still, Tim lets the marshmallows soak for a bit before slurping them down. Jason reloads five times, but Tim definitely doesn’t mind.  

          Once he got bored doing that, he snuck up three floors to pester Lucius. He had been a bit baffled when the nerf dart stuck to the face of his tablet, but after the third or fourth, he decided to roll with it. Jason got bored pretty quickly after that point too. He shot Luke Fox with a dart while he was headed to the cafeteria and the poor guy had no idea what even happened.  

          Now – since he had a failed his attempt at creating a smiley face on Bruce’s computer – he is tormenting a WE employee on the fourth floor. Her nametag says Claire, and Jason is pretty sure she was rude to Tim once upon a time. Timmy may not hold grudges, but Jason…. Jason is just petty like that sometimes. He doesn’t feel guilty in the least. She really does deserve it. Her, with her awful pedicure, eye-color changing contacts and ugly pencil skirt. She sits in her chair with an aura of pretentious confidence. She makes a rather undignified noise when the first dart hits her in the ear, jumping and spilling coffee all over herself. He figures the third shot might make her suspicious, so he moves onto another employee. He remembers what Tim said once about coming in to work only to hear some Derrek guy making fun of his circus brother. Again, Jason feels another burst of pettiness. He can’t help it. He’s pretty determined to be at least a fair brother, and only siblings can make circus monkey jokes. Those are like, the rules, or something. 

          The first dart hits him in the nose. Jason flees when he whips around, pulling the vent cover closed in a flash and sliding back the way he came. He gets an incoming text from Dick once he’s safely tucked in a crossing.  _Been spotted. Retreat to B’s office._   

          Jason starts to climb, making sure to take a shot at anyone else he sees on his way up. He drops down into Bruce’s office and slides his nerf gun into his desk drawer. Bruce directs him over towards another chair where a bowl of his favorite soup is waiting on its moving table. Jason settles down just as Dick drops in. He puts the vent cover back on, places his gun with Jason’s, and slouches down onto the futon, covering up with a blanket and feigning sleep. The security guard knocks on the door about two minutes after. 

          “Mr. Wayne?” 

          “Come on in, Mr. Hawke.” 

          Bruce is only thankful that all the chairs and futon are around the corner from him when he comes in. Hawke looks reasonably flustered, and Bruce would be willing to bet he has a good idea why. He takes a minute to compose himself before speaking. 

          “I’ve been getting complaints about your kids running around here and shooting people with foam darts.” 

          Bruce raises a brow. “My kids have been in here all day, and Tim is working just down the hall.” Tim appears in the doorway, looking fairly confused. “Actually, there he is now.” 

          “Bruce? What’s going on?” 

          “Mr. Hawke says that you boys have been bothering the employees.” 

          Tim blinks. “Me? And...” He peers around the door frame, smiling at his brothers. “...them?” 

          Hawke glances back at the boys, spotting them for the first time. “I’m... I’m sorry, Mr. Wayne. One of the office workers said she saw Dick Grayson with a nerf gun.” 

          Bruce chuckles. “Kind of hard to be running around shooting people when he’s conked out after three consecutive twelve-hour night shifts.” 

          Hawke manages an apology before leaving the room. 

          Tim laughs after a few seconds of silence. Dick rolls over with a groan, actually asleep now. Jason snickers at him before taking a big bite of soup. Alfred had sent some food for each of the boys with Bruce once he was aware they were all headed to the same place.  

          Jason sure seems happy. He’s slurping it down like it might disappear. Then again, Alfred did pack at least three servings worth just for him. Jason has always eaten like that. 

          Bruce doesn’t mind. That whole Lazarus pits thing makes it so he burns through calories even in his down time. It’s no wonder he has a harder time keeping up with his metabolism than he used to.  

          Jason finishes up and hands Bruce the container, knowing that it came from the manor. Bruce expects him to go back to shooting people with darts, but instead, he settles in to take a nap. Damian turns a page in his sketchbook to capture his brother’s peaceful expression once he’s out. Bruce smiles gently.  

          “Goodnight, Jason. Love you.” 

          “Mmm. Night, dad.” 

          The response is barely a murmur, but Bruce still catches enough of it to have an odd feeling well up in his chest. Damian spares Bruce a glance and Bruce nods.  

          “I love you too, Damian.” 

          Damian doesn’t smile, per se, but his lips do tick up for a fraction of a second before he turns back to his sketch. He sometimes forgets how nice it must be to hear that he loves them. He always has, but he doesn’t always verbalize it so clearly. It’s more like yelling and lecturing about their safety.  

          That’s why when patrol rolls around about eight hours later, he has them check and re-check their supplies. Jason accuses him of mothering them. Dick thinks it’s “sweet”. Tim only shrugs, checking himself over a third time. Damian huffs, but Bruce would be willing to bet he secretly likes the attention.  

          Bruce gets suited up and Dick skips over. “Your turn. Batarangs. Check. Smoke pellets. Check. Lasers. Check. Check.”  

          “Dick.” 

          “Jump line. Check. Hunk of kryptonite. Check.” 

          “Dick.” 

           “Frame charges...” He goes down the list, counting on his fingers. 

           “Dick.” 

          “Oh, right. Patrol.” 

          Bruce gently pushes him towards his bike and he snags Tim to ride with him. Jason offers Damian a seat on his, but he politely declines. Jason shrugs. Bruce hops into the Batmobile and Damian jumps in shortly after, placing his katana in the footwell.  

          “I know we’re all wound up and restless from a boring day at the office, but remember to keep your eyes open for that cult. Watch each other’s backs if you’re nearby. Be careful.” 

          Jason laughs over comms, the sound of his bike a distant rumble. “ _You’re really pulling the dad card today, aren’t you?_ ” 

          “I don’t think I have to remind you boys that cults are dangerous groups. They’ll stop at nothing to achieve their goals and I don’t need one of you getting hurt because we didn’t take precautions.” 

          Tim snickers. “ _Yep. Dad card._ ” 

          Bruce shakes his head to himself, reaching over the armrest to ruffle Damian’s hair. “Just do as you’re told, please.” 

          Jason cackles a bit. “ _You even said ‘please’._ ” 

          Bruce sighs, keeping eyes on the road as he pulls a tight corner. Damian shifts accordingly, his gaze scanning the alleys for action. They all check in with each other as much as possible, but Bruce can’t help the itch he feels since Jason is on his own. He tries not to question too much, since Jason might get the idea that Bruce doesn’t trust him on his own, but that’s the opposite of the truth. It’s the criminals he doesn’t trust.  

          “ _I think I’ve got something over near main. I’m keeping my distance for now, so I’ll let you know how it pans out_.” Jason mutters. 

          Thunder rumbles overhead and Bruce hopes it’s not too distracting for any of them. He and Damian spot movement and a partial mask in an alley soon enough after that he doesn’t have time to dwell on it. Tim and Dick grumble about getting their uniforms wet again, but keep on task after their own sighting. 

          Jason takes a sharp breath, and it’s one that Bruce has heard too many times to think nothing of. “Hood? Red Hood, respond.” 

          He sounds dazed when he answers. “ _I’ve been compromised_.” 

          Bruce and Damian rush back to the Batmobile, dropping their own lead to head for Jason’s location. Tim and Dick are also on their way, and Bruce hopes that it makes a difference. He somehow doubts that it will. It’s a hated thought, but it’s probably true. 

           Upon arriving at the location, Jason’s tracker is on the ground and his spare comm is crushed next to it. The cult wanted them to find it. Bruce kneels to pick up the tracker, as it’s still intact. It had been a wonder that Jason wore it at all, but it was useless tonight. Now his son’s life is at risk again. 

          “Bruce, we’ll find him.” Dick says, coming out of the shadows and placing a hand on his shoulder.  

          “I know. We have to.” 

          All of them know better than to think Bruce sees it as an obligation. He would die before he lost that boy again. 

          They start hunting for him, calling Barbara to look for him on cameras. That all-consuming doubt Bruce feels is almost overwhelming, but he isn’t about to stop. He's already lost Jason one too many times.

          He’s standing on the edge of a rooftop overlooking Gotham Plaza when a voice addresses him from behind. “You need to stop looking for him.” 

          Bruce turns, trying to keep a snarl out of his voice. “And why is that?” 

          The sight that greets him is one of the cultists that they’ve been tracking, the robes a creamy color and the Eye of Horus painted on his forehead. “The Red Hood now belongs to us. He is the embodiment of our benefactor.” 

          “Why?” 

          “Can’t you feel the power of Seth? He is everywhere. For one as angry as you, you would have to be a fool not to recognize where our patron’s power lies.” 

          “He doesn’t belong to you.” 

          “Nor to you.” 

          Bruce growls out his response. “He doesn’t belong to anyone. He’s not an object, but so help me if you harm my boy-” 

          The cultist seems surprised. “Your son, then? It’s no wonder you want him back so badly.” 

         “Where is he?” 

          The man hums, and somehow Bruce knows he’s smiling behind his mask. “Unfortunately, I can’t tell you.” 

          He throws down a smoke pellet and disappears. Bruce turns on his thermal scanners, ready to give chase, but to no avail. He’s nowhere to be found. With a growl, he radios in to the rest of his boys. “The cultist got away.” 

          The Bats stay out on patrol all night and well into the early morning looking for him. All their leads have disappeared and any trace of Jason along with it. Bruce and his remaining sons retreat to the cave, filtering through all ritualistic practices of Egyptian cults. He’s exhausted, and he knows his kids are as well. Even Dick, who is by far the most energetic of them, is tiring.  

          “Bruce.” 

          “I know, Dick.” 

          He looks over at his younger sons, seeing Tim asleep on the table and Damian staring blankly at the wall of information before him. It’s a good thing he doesn’t have school upcoming in the morning. 

          Bruce sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “All right, boys. Off to bed at least for a few hours.” 

          Damian startles. “But father, Todd-” 

          “I’ll keep looking, Damian, but you and Tim need to get some rest. I can’t have you tired when we find him. I don’t want to lose one of you because we weren’t cautious.” 

          It’s clear that Damian wants to argue, but he can see that Bruce is feeling a little desperate. “Very well, father.” 

          Once Tim and Damian are up the stairs and out of sight, Dick turns to Bruce with a questioning look. “What do you want me to do?” 

          “Pay Barbara a visit. I know you have a shift later tonight in Bludhaven, but we’ll still need all the help we can get. I’ll keep my ear to the ground and I’ll ask Jim to do the same. I know that the GCPD doesn’t care much for him, but Gordon’s got a soft spot where the Red Hood is concerned.” 

          “Always has.” Dick huffs. “It was never exactly a secret.” 

          “He may not know who we really are, but yes.” 

          Dick runs a hand through his hair, sighing as he stares at the flashing letters of ‘missing’ across the Red Hood’s picture in the news. “Looks like the media caught wind of this already.” 

          Bruce’s brow furrows. “How could they know that unless someone told them? He only went missing to us a few hours ago, and the public wouldn’t be made aware of that unless he’d been gone more than a week. That’s when crime would be at its highest and it’d be obvious that something was wrong.” 

          “You think the cult wants this to be common knowledge?” 

          Bruce hums, paging through the rituals that Tim had found. “Yes, but the question is why? Why would they want people to know? It only draws more attention to them.” 

          “It also spikes paranoia. This is Gotham, and if the Red Hood is missing, that means someone must be on the loose. Someone had to have taken him, and it puts a strong focus on Arkham.” 

          “And when all the inmates are accounted for? What happens then?” 

          Dick slumps into a chair, groaning as he rubs his face. “I don’t know. If they don’t want to attract attention to Arkham, then what’s the point of letting people know Jason is missing?” 

          It takes Bruce a moment to put it all together, but the moment he does has him frozen in his seat. “Dick.” 

          The man in question tilts his head back, grumbling a little. “What?” 

          “They’re going to televise it. Think about it. Awareness goes up, and when they want to perform their ritual, they hijack the airwaves and broadcast proof of their beliefs to the entire city.” 

          Dick comes to attention rather abruptly. “What do you think they’re going to do to him?” 

          “The cultist I found told me that the Red Hood was the “embodiment of their benefactor”. I think they’re going to try to summon their god to Jason’s body. They believe that Seth, or Set as we’d call him, can be called to this world through Jason’s particular brand of rage.” 

          “Yeah, but that stuff isn’t real.” 

          Bruce sighs. “But they believe it is. They may have discovered a certain sort of possessive magic that they think holds the key to Seth’s return.” 

          “So they’re going to unwittingly turn Jason into their puppet on the idea that he’ll turn into their rage god?” 

          “That’s how it looks.” 

          Dick pulls out his phone, putting in a call to Barbara. “We need to find Jason now.” 

          Bruce murmurs his agreement, setting to work in the only way he knows how. His obsessive path-following may not turn up anything, but Bruce will follow every trail long after it goes cold for the sake of his son. 

          Saturday afternoon and the night that follows bring them nothing. The news continues to float around that the Red Hood has disappeared and people are in their homes watching with patience to see the outcome. Bruce has noted a shocking uptick in the amount of homes that get locked up well and the amount of fear back on the street now that word is out that someone managed to take down a Bat. Reports on Batman’s efforts to find him are everywhere, and the ferocity with which he’s been pursuing the case hasn’t gone unnoticed. 

          It’s Monday afternoon before anything happens. Bruce is sitting in front of the Batcomputer as he has been for the last two days, his shoulders slumped and his gaze tired. 

          “ _Good afternoon, Gotham City._ ” 

          Bruce stiffens and Dick and Tim stop in their tracks. Damian is at school where he hopefully has no idea what’s going on.  

          “ _If you’ve noticed a missing vigilante in the last couple of days, you’ll be pleased to know that he hasn’t gone anywhere._ ” a masked man says, turning the camera away from himself and towards someone else. The picture takes a few moments to focus, but Bruce would know the shape of his son anywhere. “ _He’s been spending a little time acclimating to his new home._ ” 

          “Tim, stop the feed to the city.” 

          “On it.” 

          They have Jason dressed in Egyptian garb, the neck plate elaborate and the cloth around his hips fine. His helmet is still on, but they have an eye painted on the right side of it in gold and white. A tube hangs from the bottom of its hard armor, and Bruce is fairly certain that they couldn’t get the helmet off. Either that, or they really didn’t care about his identity. Bruce tries to ignore the fact that he’s swaying as if he’s still half-sedated. The ropes around his wrists are held by a couple of cultists who are fairly good-sized, but Jason won’t be putting up much of a fight in his state. 

          “Are you ready, Red Hood, to greet your master?” 

          Bruce grimaces as Jason starts to struggle. He knows that he feels robbed. They already stole his dignity, and Jason isn’t about to let them take his free will too.  

          Dick suddenly steals the keyboard from Bruce’s waiting fingers. “Wait. I thought I saw- yes! There. Did you see that?” 

          “I know the view out that window.” 

          “That’s an old Joker hideout. It was condemned, but never demolished.” 

          Tim comes up to the computer as well, exploring the feed for more information. “I got the feed. No one watching is going to be seeing anything but snow.” His eyes still scan the captured video. “Only we’re seeing this. It looks a lot different with how they’ve repainted everything.” 

          Dick starts suiting up and Bruce rushes to join him. He transfers the feed to the Batmobile and has Tim send him the building schematics. Bruce dons his cape and cowl as fast as possible, speeding out of the cave and into the city streets. Dick and Tim are out shortly behind, taking shortcuts that the Batmobile can’t. If Bruce had been thinking at all, he’d have used the Batjet, but he was in too much of a hurry to start it up. 

          Jason loses his fight with his captors, the men holding him pushing him down onto the stone table and tying him there. His chest heaves with exertion even though he hasn’t done much and he lifts his head almost desperately. Without any of his usual clothes or armor, he doesn’t have anything to use for escape even though he continues to attempt wriggling his way free.  

          “ _B, what’s Red’s status?”_  

          “They haven’t done anything yet, but the ritual is about to start. How far out are you?” 

          Bruce can almost hear Dick shaking his head in frustration. " _Five minutes. Do you know how long we have?”_  

          “No idea, but I’ll be there in roughly the same.” 

          A group of five cultists in robes kneel around the table, spreading their arms and starting to chant. Energy in the room moves towards Jason, its coloration a blood red. It radiates off of Jason and Bruce can’t help but murmur for Jason to hold on. 

          “ _Batman, are you seeing this?”_  

          Bruce risks another glance at the screen, seeing the energy coming off of Jason being burned off by an eerie lime green. The power of the Pit is fighting back. The cultists exclaim, but those chanting continue even more urgently. It doesn’t seem to make a difference at first, but eventually the Pit energy is overwhelmed.  

          Upon arrival at the warehouse, Bruce flies from the vehicle, crashing through an upper level window even though Dick and Tim haven’t arrived yet. How he got there first doesn’t matter. There is plenty of security around, but they’re no match for Bruce in his angered state. Bruce descends to the lower level, the darkness making him seem bigger than ever.  

          Two or three of the cultists scream something about Osiris and flee. Bruce isn’t sure what they’re screaming about at first, but then he realizes that the red energy coming off of Jason is nothing compared to the black coming off of Bruce. He’s entered the radius of their spell, that’s for sure. The energy is so dark, in fact, that it steals the light from the lanterns around the room. No wonder they were afraid.  

          They should be. 

          Those who stayed behind are quickly dealt with and the pull of power dies down. 

          Outside the warehouse, Bruce can hear the sounds of fighting and he’d be willing to bet that his other sons are taking down the cultists. They may be out in broad daylight, but he doubts anyone would stop them.  

          Bruce looks around for the camera and crushes it so that the live feed will cut out at Tim’s end – so that it’s obvious Bruce won the fight – and returns to Jason’s side. With gentle hands, he releases the helmet and reveals Jason’s face. His hair is sweat-clotted and bunched and his expression is more afraid than Bruce has seen it in a long time. He unclips his cape, cutting Jason free with a batarang and helping him sit up. He doesn’t get very far, dizziness overwhelming him and almost causing him to black out. Bruce pulls him forwards so he doesn’t slump back against the table, holding the boy in his arms.  

          “It’s okay, Jason.” Bruce murmurs, quieting his son as he muffles panicked sobs into Bruce’s shoulder. He wraps his cape around Jason, covering his mostly-bare skin effectively. “It’s all right.” 

          Jason only nods and Bruce cards his fingers through the boy’s hair.  

          “Are you hurt?” 

          “Jus-jus fuzzy mostly.” 

          Bruce checks him over, finding a couple bruises on the skin of his ribs. Nothing is broken, and it he wasn’t drugged out of his mind, he would likely be a little sore, but otherwise he’s fine. “You’re okay, kiddo. I promise.” 

          Jason chokes on a breath, pressing as close to Bruce as possible without wrapping his arms around him. Doing that would take far too much effort. He shivers despite the warmth of the cape.  

          “D-didn’t know if... if you were comin’. S’ been two days.” 

          Bruce presses a paternal kiss to the top of Jason’s head, not caring that his hair is sweaty at all. He rubs Jason’s back, quieting him again. He murmurs a few reassurances. 

          “The camera?” 

          Bruce hums lowly, almost smiling. “Tim hijacked their hijack and made sure only we could see what was going on. You’re safe, Jason. You’re safe.” 

          The words don’t seem to have the intended effect. “ _I was stupid. Y-you told us to be careful and- Wouldn't have gotten in trouble if I'd have-”_  

          “Jason, it’s all right. None of us knew what they wanted. You couldn’t have known that it was you they would take.” Bruce backs up a step, tilting Jason’s head up so the boy has to look him in the eyes. “Don’t think for a moment that this was your fault.” 

          Jason closes his eyes, nodding as Bruce pulls him back into his embrace. 

          “No matter what you do, and no matter where you are, I will come for you when you’re in trouble, kiddo. I know you aren’t thinking real clearly right now because of all the sedatives they used on you, but just remember that. If you can’t trust anything else, trust that.” 

          Jason breaks down into quiet sobs again and Bruce holds onto him. He won’t be letting go anytime soon. No matter what it takes, he will fight for his sons. He owes that to them and more. 


End file.
